


Three French Hens

by ktlsyrtis



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, F/F, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 16:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13034580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktlsyrtis/pseuds/ktlsyrtis
Summary: It’s not at all out of the ordinary to spend the holidays alone in a cosy cottage good for families that becomes downright romantic when paired with a beautiful stranger. Is it?loosely inspired by "Nights in Rondanthe"





	Three French Hens

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to the _12 Days of Christmas Ficfest_ team for getting me through this, especially matildaswan for her exemplary beta work, ddagent for helping me hammer out the idea, and belligerently for listening to me whine about it constantly.  <3 <3 <3

Serena snatches the hand towel from below the sink, wiping the suds from her hands as she moves across the kitchen to grab her ringing cell phone from the countertop. Tapping the green button, she holds it to her ear without bothering to check the name, knows that the chances of it being someone other than the hospital or her wayward daughter are slim.

“Hello?”

“Rena?” Serena winces. She never would have answered if she had realized it was Sian. “How are you darling?”

“Fine, Sian. Just about to head out, actually.”

“Liar,” Sian laughs. “You haven’t gone out on a school night in _ages_ and you know it.”

Serena plops into one of the wooden kitchen chairs, retrieving the glass of wine she had left sitting there after dinner and taking a healthy sip. “Maybe I’m off to get my brains shagged out by someone half my age.”

“Nice try, but we both know that’s my job. Speaking of...” Serena rolls her eyes. The last thing she needs is to hear a litany of her friend’s latest sexual adventures. “Giancarlo wants to take me to Capri for the holidays, he has a little villa there. But I already have a booking and I hate to cancel. Since I know you’re not busy, I was wondering if you could come watch the place for me?”

Sian had retired early after bleeding her last husband dry in the divorce and in a fit of whimsy used some of the proceeds to buy a quaint farmhouse outside of Lyon and renovated it into a bed and breakfast. Although it seemed mad at the time, the place was close enough to the ski resorts that it did a healthy business and Sian had thrived in her new career, meeting and entertaining the strangers that stayed under her roof. Serena had visited a few times in the past, had found the place lovely and peaceful, a strange fit for her boisterous friend but one that she seemed to truly love. 

“I don’t know, Sian.”

“Oh please,” she says, using that wheedling tone that had gotten Serena into more scrapes than she cares to admit in their youth. “It’s just one small family staying, it’ll be easy. Just cook some meals, do some hoovering, and the rest of the time is yours to catch up on trashy romance novels and drink my wine cellar dry.” Sian’s voice softens, the genuine concern making Serena’s throat tight. “Rena, I don’t like the idea of you sitting around that house all by yourself at the holidays. Please, darling.”

Serena’s fingers toy with the pendant at her throat. Sian does have a point. What else is she going to do for the holidays? She hasn’t heard a word from Robbie since they split over a month back, despite his insistence at the time that they remain friends. And her plan to take time off to spend with her daughter hadn’t been nearly as appealing to Elinor as the opportunity to go skiing in Switzerland with her latest beau’s wealthy family. 

As it is, she’s staring down the prospect of too much time off of work with nothing more than the _Downton Abbey_ box set and a crate of Shiraz to keep her company. She can’t remember the last time she’s done something for herself. Why shouldn’t she have a proper holiday?

“When do you need me there?”

…

Bernie pulls her duffle from the boot, swinging it up onto her shoulder as she locks the car. _Les Jumeaux_ looks just as she remembers; somehow that makes everything worse. She pushes the resentment down as best she can, desperate to ignore the hurt: what was supposed be a happy family holiday and a chance to reconnect with her children, to start repairing their fractured relationship, is now just another lonely holiday spent far from home.

Pushing through the front door, the scent of mulled cider fills the air as she walks into a front room that looks like something off of a holiday card. Swags of pine are draped along the banister, a large wreath bedecked with holly hangs in the hall, and she can just see a Christmas tree in the sitting room, elegantly decorated in red and gold in front of a crackling fire. 

The realization of what a colossal mistake this is comes crashing down; she turns back to the door thinking of nothing but running to her car and driving as far away from this bastion of holiday cheer as she can get.

“Oh, hello! I thought I heard someone come in.” 

Bernie’s hand freezes on the knob. She looks back over her shoulder to find a woman standing in the kitchen doorway, little more than a shadow in a loose shirt and trousers, the light from the back door filtering through the thin fabric to give just a hint at the curvaceous figure underneath.

Whoever she is, she’s clearly not the owner. Bernie may not have a mind for faces, but it’s hard for anyone to forget the teased blonde hair and age-defying cleavage of Sian Kors. _It must be one of the other guests_ , she thinks, beginning to wonder how many people might be staying here with something akin to dread, realizing for the first time that being around strangers at the holidays may be even worse than being alone.

Her momentum broken, Bernie knows she should at least speak to Sian, cancel her reservation and pay whatever fee is required before she leaves.

“Sorry, um. Is the owner here?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” The woman steps out of the hallway shadows: cropped chestnut hair and dark eyes gleam in the fairy lights strung along the ceiling. A spark of interest ignites in Bernie’s belly and she tamps it down even more ruthlessly than her maudlin thoughts. 

“Sian was called away, so I’ll be taking care of you while you’re here,” the woman explains, holding out her hand with a friendly smile that lights up her whole face, the crinkled corners of her eyes and the lines beside her mouth prove smiling must be her natural state. “Serena Campbell. And you must be Berenice Wolfe.”

“Bernie, actually,” she corrects, taking Serena’s hand without thinking. Her grip is strong, fingers warm and soft against her own, and Bernie’s stomach flips a little. 

She yanks her hand back quickly; Serena’s eyes widen and her smile falters slightly.

“Right,” Serena starts, gathering herself before pressing on. “So, where’s the rest of the family? Bringing in the bags?”

Bernie shoves her hands deep in her pockets. “Ah, they’re not here, exactly. Something...came up.” She can feel her cheeks burn as shame rises in her chest, thick and hot. Her children can’t even bring themselves spend the holidays with her. She coughs to clear the tightness in her throat. “Actually, I don’t think I’m going to be staying either.”

“Oh, I see.” Serena’s face falls as her hand lifts to the pendent around her neck. She worries it between her fingers and Bernie can’t help thinking she’s managed to hurt this woman; the possibility leaves Bernie feeling vaguely nauseous, though she doesn’t know why on earth she should feel that way about a complete stranger.

“Right, well, you’ll have to pay the cancellation fee,” Serena clarifies, dropping her necklace to pull her phone from her pocket. “If you give me a moment to find out what that is,” she mumbles, her eyes focused downward as she taps out a message.

Bernie slides her duffle from her shoulder to the floor, her back beginning to ache from the weight of it, and starts rocking back and forth on her feet in the awkward silence.

“One less group to tend to then, eh?” She tries for jovial; it comes out so patently false and forced that Serena looks up at her as if she’s gone mad.

“Actually, you were the only group staying, so looks like a quiet holiday for me indeed,” she says with a smile: it doesn’t come close to reaching her eyes, and the note of disappointment in her voice makes Bernie’s stomach knot. 

“Oh, I didn’t realise.” Bernie fidgets uncomfortably, guilt making her stomach churn. “I- I could stay.” The offer is out of her mouth before her brain has a chance to process, but any desire to take it back is erased by the sudden hope that lights in Serena’s eyes. “I mean, I’ve come all this way and it’s not like I have anywhere else to go.” She shrugs awkwardly, keeping her voice casual, as if it’s not at all out of the ordinary to spend the holidays in a cosy cottage good for families that becomes downright romantic when paired with a beautiful stranger. “Might as well make the most of it?”

Serena’s smile is so bright it warms the last spark of Christmas cheer left in Bernie’s heart.

...

The timer buzzes and Serena pulls the chicken from the oven, adding another mouthwatering note to the already delicious smelling kitchen, as she hears footsteps pad down the stairs. 

Bernie had been less than helpful when Serena asked about dinner, just shrugged and said whatever Serena prepared would be fine before retreating to her room to unpack, her elegant, long fingered hand gliding along the banister.

Serena has always loved a mystery and Bernie Wolfe is that in spades. Sian’s notes said the Dunn-Wolfe clan were regular visitors to _Les Jumeaux_ at the holidays, but this year’s reservation listed only Bernie and two others Serena presumes to be her children. What she can’t figure out is why the woman would have even bothered coming without her family, only to bolt the moment she walks through the door. 

Still, she knows the pain of having no family at Christmas all too well, and can’t deny she is inordinately pleased Bernie decided to stay. Waiting on a stranger may not be the ideal holiday, but it is far better than rattling around by herself so far from home.

Chicken carved and arranged on a plate with roasted potatoes and _haricot vert_ , Serena pushes through the door into the dining room where Bernie is already waiting at the table by the large window, staring out at the darkened fields. She looks up as Serena places the plate in front of her, a faint smile pulling up the corners of her thin lips. Serena turns to the side board and grabs the bottle of shiraz she had opened to breathe, hesitates before pouring.

“I’m sorry, I should have asked. Would you prefer white? I just opened what I like.”

“No, I’m sure that’s fine. I’ve never been able to tell much difference between wines, anyway.”

Serena hums disapprovingly as she fills Bernie’s glass. “Well then, I’ll be sure not to waste the good stuff on you.” She drops a quick wink, sure that she can see Bernie’s cheeks pink as she turns back to the kitchen where her own plate is waiting.

She has barely finished pouring her own glass of wine when the kitchen door swings open, Bernie’s tousled blonde head poking through. Serena swallows a sigh, setting down the bottle as she gets up again.

“Is something the matter?”

Bernie’s eyes widen. “Oh, no! No, everything’s lovely. I just…” She looks down a moment as if composing her thoughts, before peering at Serena through her messy fringe. Serena finds the act unexpectedly endearing. “I was hoping I could eat with you?” she asks, tilting her head to the side. “There’s only the two of us, no reason for us both to eat alone.”

Serena blinks, surprised by the request, before smiling softly. She nods and Bernie immediately pushes her way into the kitchen, plate and wineglass already in hand. 

She sets her plate down across from Serena’s own, gives a small smile of gratitude that softens her whole face. Serena feels her own smile widen in response. 

She lifts her glass into the air, clinks the crystal as Bernie responds in kind. “To not eating alone.”

“Cheers.”

Bernie tucks in with gusto, which Serena takes as one of the better compliments she’s gotten for her Christmas cooking, while Serena paces herself between her wine and the main course.

They eat in silence for a time, Serena restraining her curiosity in the name of politeness for as long as she can, till it and the wine get the better of her.

She starts poking Bernie with questions and soon learns Bernie is a trauma surgeon - “ _was_ a trauma surgeon,” Bernie is quick to correct - now working as a civilian consultant with the military to design and setup field hospitals. They drain the first bottle discussing the finer points of trauma facility management and how the learnings from the front line could be applied in an NHS facility like Holby.

“Seems like a hard life, though,” Serena ventures as she pours herself a glass from the second bottle. “You must be away from home quite a bit.”

The observation would normally put her on the defensive, feels too much like questioning her priorities, but with Serena it seems genuine, coming from a place of concern rather than judgement, making her feel like she can open up without fear. 

Bernie rolls the stem of her glass back and forth between her fingers, eyes fixed on the swirling red liquid inside. “Not much to be home for, these days. Messy divorce, children barely speaking to me.” She squints up at Serena with a pained sort of smile. “That’s what this holiday was supposed to be, a chance to make up with the kids. Too little, too late, I suppose.” She takes a long swig of her wine, reaching for the bottle to top it back up. 

Serena’s heart aches, hates that she asked the question, that family can be so hard.

“Well, my daughter thought a skiing trip with the boyfriend she’s been seeing for all of five minutes was preferable to spending Christmas with me,” she blurts out with a wet laugh, before drowning her disappointment with a rather large mouthful of wine. She sets her glass back on the table, intent on asking Bernie more about her children, only to find herself ranting about her stubborn, brilliant, challenging daughter. 

Bernie listens intently to tales of Elinor’s first disastrous attempts at becoming an actress. The saga of _Les Miserables_ , how Elinor had shown up to the first day of rehearsals assuming she had been cast as Cosette, only to discover she was a lowly chorus member and had demanded to be recast, pulls a genuine laugh from Bernie, a full-throated bark that has an already giggling Serena howling until tears stream down her cheeks.

The night disappears in glasses of wine and stories, until Serena’s eyes land on the clock above the stove, hands pointing to just after 2am.

“Good lord, is that the time?” She pushes herself up from the table, limbs loose and muscles sore from hours of alcohol and laughter. “I have to run into town to pick up some things after breakfast. If there’s anything in particular you’d like, just ask.”

They walk up the narrow stairs together, shoulders bumping, saying “good night” on the moonlit landing and walking to their rooms on opposite ends.

“Serena?” She hears as she opens her bedroom door. She turns towards Bernie at other end of the hall, silhouette shining silver in the moonlight while her eyes glitter in the darkness. “Thank you,” Bernie says so warmly it makes Serena’s chest tight. 

She smiles, nods, and waits until Bernie’s door clicks shut before slipping into her darkened bedroom.

…

The sun has barely risen when Bernie wakes, despite the late night prior. She lies in the overlarge bed, far more comfortable than she’s used to, listening to the wind sighing through the trees outside for as long as she can bear. Grabs her RAMC hoodie from the bottom of her duffle and slips it on against the early morning chill, zipping it up and tucking under the hood as she makes her way downstairs. There’s no other noise in the inn, she assumes Serena must still be asleep.

The kitchen is neat as a pin, aside from their plates in the sink, the empty bottles and wine stained glasses still on the table. She makes short work of finding a bag of grounds in the large pantry, manages to get the coffee makerbrewing despite it having more buttons and switches than an AS-90, and before long she has a steaming mug in her hand. 

There’s a large picture window overlooking the garden, and Bernie settles in the padded alcove, tucking her long legs beneath her as she takes the first bracing sip, mind lazily swirling over musings of what her kids are doing now, and how this holiday has unexpectedly worked out, how nice it is to have made a friend.

The soft creak of the kitchen door pulls her from her thoughts, a clearly sleepy Serena walking in. She’s wearing the fluffiest robe Bernie has ever seen, feet clad in thick woolen socks, short hair spiked up unevenly. Bernie feels her heart stutter at the sight, nothing short of adorable, and clamps down those thoughts. They are a _spectacularly_ bad idea.

“Coffee’s on the bench, if you’d like,” Bernie says softly.

Serena leaps a foot into the air with a gasp, settles on her feet with her hand over her heart and snaps her face towards Bernie with wide eyes, clutching the collar of her robe.

“Would you be a little louder, please?” she breathes out, blinking owlishly before huffing out a laugh. “You scared me half to death!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Bernie raises her hands in mock surrender before returning to her coffee. She smiles into the rim of her mug, watching Serena as she putters about, pouring a cup for herself; her eyes flutter shut, face the picture of bliss, as she takes her first grateful sip. She groans happily, deep in her throat, and Bernie has to look away. 

She hears the mug settle on the table. “I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this.”

Bernie looks up, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“Well, _this_.” Serena waves a hand to encompass the cozy kitchen. “You’re the paying guest on a relaxing vacation, _I_ should be the one making _you_ coffee, not the other way ‘round.”

Bernie moves to sit across from her at the battered table. “Serena, at this point I hardly know what time zone I’m in at any given moment and I haven’t slept past sunrise in any of them. I was up anyway, it’s no bother. Truly.”

Serena stares at her for a few heartbeats, then relents with an incline of her head, leans back in her chair. She takes another slow sip. The neck of her robe falls open slightly, revealing a hint of a swell, a glimpse of pale skin; Bernie busies herself studying the marks on the antique tabletop. 

They sit in companionable silence, the ticking of the pipes and a smattering of birdsong the only sounds. Serena sets her empty mug down with a _clunk_ , stretches with a sigh.

“I’m going to head into town. The weather’s looking a bit dicey, so I’d like to lay in some extra supplies. Anything you’d like me to pick up?”

Bernie shakes her head. “I’m sure whatever you get will be fine.” She ignores Serena’s eye roll, fiddles with the handle of her mug. “Actually, I was thinking. Would, ah, would you like some company?”

“What?” Serena’s brow furrows. “You’re on holiday, Bernie, you should be relaxing!” 

Bernie feels the heat of embarrassment climbing the back of her neck, fingers fiddling with a teaspoon. “Ah, well, the problem is I’m not actually very good at relaxing.” She squints at Serena through her fringe, manages a weak smile. “I was supposed to be here with my kids, but all by myself? I’m likely to go mad sitting around here. If it’s not too much trouble, I...I really would like to help.”

Serena studies her, her thoughts unfathomable; Bernie has to fight to not squirm under the scrutiny. Eventually Serena shakes her head with a bewildered chuckle, pushes away from the table. “Alright, then. What do they say, ‘the customer’s always right?’ Go on and get dressed, soldier. I’m driving.”

Bernis is amazed how quickly the day goes by. Grocery shopping is less a chore and more a chance to watch Serena navigate the store, to see what she likes, with Bernie content to follow behind, pushing the cart. She sneaks the makings of her favorite curry into the cart, thinks she’ll try and get Serena to let her make it for supper.

She does the heavy lifting when they get back to the inn, unpacking everything under Serena’s careful instructions. Serena makes them both sandwiches on thick slices of freshly baked crusty bread from the local baker while Bernie watches her work. 

 

She’s never been one for chit chat, but something about Serena makes it come easily. It might be her humour, witty and wry and intelligent and always quick with a barb or an insightful comment, or just the warmth of her smile and the fact that she looks at Bernie as if she’s actually listening; but something about her draws Bernie out of herself before she even really knows what’s happened. She finds herself sharing her life between bites of her sandwich, telling stories of her childhood, her kids, her time in the army, talking long after her plate is reduced to crumbs. 

Serena insists on taking their plates to the sink to leave Bernie sitting; she sinks into the realisation that in less than twenty-fours hours, miraculously, she feels like she’s known Serena her whole life.

She insists on helping around the house, and Serena puts her to work carrying heavy boxes and reaching high shelves for most of the afternoon. 

She has to push onto her toes to dust to top of the valence in the sitting room, balancing on one foot to reach around the Christmas tree, stretching as far as she can while Serena stands guard. She feels a draft on her back, her t-shirt ridden up on her stomach, and pouts as she swipes at the rest of the dust. Task complete, she slowly lowers herself back to solid ground, already wondering what next to do, and turns to find Serena watching her with the oddest expression on her face: her eyes wide and mouth open slightly, fingers sliding her pendant along its chain.

“What? Did I miss something?”

Serena jumps as if startled, spots of color appearing high on her cheeks. She mutters something about needing more cleaning supplies, and Bernie frowns as she watches her practically bolt from the room.

They take turns showering before dinner, passing each other in the narrow hallway in just their bathrobes as they trade places, exchanging awkward smiles in passing.Bernie closes the door and has to bite back a groan as she breathes in hot, humid air that smells so strongly of Serena it’s like she’s surrounded by her. 

She turns the taps to ice cold and steps under the thrumming spray, shivering as the chill water washes over her too warm body.

It’s a near thing, but she convinces Serena to let her cook dinner, insisting it’s the least she can do, explaining she’s not comfortable letting Serena do all the work now it’s just the two of them. Serena sits on the other side of the bench as Bernie sets about mixing spices and sauteing chicken before going to choose tonight’s wine. 

She comes back with a dusty bottle and and pours two glasses as Bernie potters around the kitchen, lights the tall taper candles in the center of the table, the two of them moving around the small space in companionable syncopation. 

The moan of pleasure Serena lets out at her first bite vibrates through Bernie, right down to her toes; it’s a long moment before she remember she mustn’t stare and manages to tear her eyes away. 

She takes a healthy swallow of her wine while Serena’s arm rests back on the table.

“Bernie, this is _gorgeous_!” She can’t help the small smile of pride, the flush of pleasure, that she was able to do something to please Serena so much. “Where on earth did you learn to make it?”

“Something I picked up in Afghanistan,” she replies, before the increasingly familiar sensation of opening up takes over again. She finds herself adding, “I got to know some of the villagers, the family of one of our translators. Just the loveliest, most friendly people, I learned so much from them. One day Alex and I…” She trails off, the thought of Alex stemming her newfound openness. 

It’s still painful, to think of her, although not in the way it used to be, when missing her was all she could think about. Now, it’s more a loss of opportunity, of the life she used to have, the future she had imagined. 

She pushes past the feeling, coming back to the present; she can tell from Serena’s sympathetic gaze that she’s been quiet too long, and launches back into the tale with forced joviality to cover her lapse. 

The lingering awkwardness passes soon enough, leaving them both laughing over fresh, steaming bowls of curry with a second bottle of wine half empty between them.

Bernie stands to clear the dishes from the table, glaring at Serena when she protests, but relents enough to share washing up duties. Serena passes over plate after plate as Bernie dries, the clink of china and cutlery the only sound breaking their companionable silence. 

But there’s something in the air, a steadily vibrating tension between them, and Bernie thinks Serena is gearing up to ask her something, something too important to just blurt out in the heat of the moment. She waits till they’ve put the dishes away to ask, pours them both one last glass before moving onto the pots and pans still soaking in the sink.

“Your comrade, you mentioned before, Alex. Did he…” she trails off, but Bernie can hear the unspoken question, along with the assumption Serena has made. She knows she could go along with it, let it pass, and yesterday she would have. She barely talks about this with herself, let alone a veritable stranger. But that was yesterday; today, tonight, things feel different.

“No, no. _She’s_ fine,” Bernie assures her; she can see the moment Serena picks up on her emphasis. _In for a penny._.. “Alex and I were together. She’s the reason Marcus and I divorced.” 

It’s the first time she’s said it anyone outside of her immediate family, saving the painful experience of having to record the court documents, and Bernie feels strangely giddy with the confession, as if some invisible weight has been lifted from her chest, pure oxygen racing in to fill the space left behind. 

“ _Oh_. Oh, I see.” Serena’s cheeks are pink, her focus on scrubbing a bit of charred sauce from the pan in the soapy water before her. “Did you realize, before you met her, that you were, um, interested?” From anyone else the question would put Bernie on the defensive, but there’s no judgement in Serena’s tone, only an earnest sort of curiosity, if a little strained.

“Ah, no. Not in the slightest. Although, looking back, that was unbelievably naive on my part.” She chuckles ruefully at Serena’s curious look, taking the dripping pan from her hands. “Let’s just say that the interest was always there, I just didn’t know how to look for it, I guess.”

“And once you did know to look for it?”

Bernie pauses, tries to find the words to explain something that changed her whole life. “You know _The Wizard of Oz_?” She presses on, despite Serena’s puzzled glance. “How Dorothy’s whole life is in black and white, and then she steps into Oz and suddenly everything is in Technicolor?” Serena nods slowly, and Bernie smiles. “It was like that, like I was truly seeing the world for the first time.”

“That’s lovely,” Serena breathes out, smiles softly, eyes a little wet.

“It was.” Bernie ducks her head shyly. “It was also terrifying.” She flips the damp towel up over her shoulder, turns to lean back against the counter. “Everything changed so suddenly, and I had to reevaluate my whole life.” She looks down, sees a fleck of cracked pepper on the corner of the towel and starts playing with it. “Should I abandon my marriage, my family, to pursue...something? Or go back and spend the rest of my life wondering what might have been, if only I were brave enough?” She flicks the speck away and looks up to find Serena’s attention still focused on her; the sympathy in her eyes is hard to face, and she forces a smile, fights the urge to look away. “When I came home from that tour I asked Marcus for a divorce. Told him that I had found someone else, that I _was_ someone else. He was furious, of course. Refused to believe that there was anything he didn’t know about me after twenty five years of marriage, that I would do something like that to him.”

“You made the right choice.” Serena’s voice is firm, implacable. “I may not have seen it at the time, but it would have been far better if Edward had just left, rather than keeping me in the dark while he chased after every Registrar and agency nurse with a pulse.” Despite her firm insistence, Bernie can the shadow of pain in her eyes, wishes she could have a quiet word alone with Edward Campbell.

“I wonder sometimes if I did,” Bernie admits, her voice strained. “Alex and I only lasted a few months after that and my entire family fell apart.” Tears fill her eyes, make the candle flames swim in her vision. “Now my kids barely speak to me, won’t even see me for Christmas and I’m too much of a coward to fix it.”

Serena moves to stand in front of her, hands still wet and flecked with soap, lightly gripping her biceps. “No, Bernie. What you did was _incredibly_ brave. Being true to yourself and stating it so plainly, knowing it would change your whole world, no matter how it turned out?” Serena steps that much closer, thumbs stroking lightly where they’re pressed against Bernie’s arms. “You...you are the most fantastic, fearless woman I’ve ever known.” 

Serena is so close Bernie can feel the warmth of her, smell the spice of her perfume, as she gazes into her eyes, wide and earnest and filled with more tenderness than Bernie has never known. The candles on the table halo her in golden light, bringing out the rich tones of her hair, and her lips curl in a tiny smile so perfect Bernie can hardly bear it. 

She’s so painfully beautiful, a Panacea that seems set on healing Bernie’s tired heart, and Bernie closes the last inches between them before she can think better of it.

She presses their lips together, feeling that smile against her mouth for a few blissful moments, before her mind catches up with her body and she realises what she’s done.

Bernie pulls back, an apology already on her lips; the words disappear at the the sight of Serena, eyes still closed, lips softly parted, cheeks flushed. Heavy lids futter open and Serena looks at Bernie for a long moment, swaying slightly in place, before reaching out and crashing their mouths back together with a desperate whimper that sets Bernie’s skin alight. Damp fingers tangle in her hair and Bernie can do nothing but kiss Serena back just as fiercely, reveling in the softness of her lips, the lingering taste of fruity wine on her tongue when she dips her own into Serena’s mouth.

Serena lets out a tiny moan, spurring her on, her hands sliding over Serena’s shoulders, down the sinuous line of her spine to rest around her waist, pulling them more closely together, one finding its way past soft silk to find even softer skin, warm and tempting beneath her fingertips.

The pots in the sink shift with a clatter beneath the still running water, jerking them apart in surprise. Bernie grips the counter, breathing hard, as Serena fumbles with the faucet. 

Bernie can see her quick breaths, trembling hands, the panic in her wide eyes. It twists at her stomach. Had she gotten it wrong? Had Serena responded not out of desire but out of instinct? She swallows nervously, throat suddenly dry, tries to find the words to bridge the distance now yawning between them.

“Serena…” She reaches out a hand and Serena jerks her arm away before Bernie can touch her. 

“It’s, ah, it’s late,” she mumbles, retreats a step backward, edging around the table, nervously rubbing her hands on her thighs. “And, and the news says there’s snow coming, so I’d, um, I’d like to get an early start.” Serena forces a smile; it’s such a far cry from her usual expression of happiness Bernie thinks she might throw up. “Do you mind turning out the lights? I’m just going to...g’night.” 

She turns and flees the kitchen, the door swinging back and forth with the force of the movement. 

Bernie sags against the bench, burying her head in her hands, and wonders just what in the hell she’s done.

…

There’s a crack in the ceiling of Serena’s bedroom. 

She knows because she’s been staring at the damn thing for at least an hour, eyes tracking the progress of the cold morning light across the room. She thinks she slept, but can’t say how much; she spent most of the night tossing and turning until the bedding was twisted about her, and whatever sleep she did manage had been filled with vivid, disjointed dreams still lingering behind her eyelids; flashes of dark eyes, soft lips and hot, strong hands burning across her skin.

She can still feel Bernie’s lips pressed against her own, thin and soft and so, so warm, her tongue tender and devilish as it slipped past her lips. The whole scene plays on a repeat loop in her mind, like some kind of bizarre out-of-body experience, reminding her of a single, inescapable fact: she, Serena Campbell, had kissed a woman. Not only that, she had kissed a woman _and she had liked it_.

The question now, is what does that mean? 

Of course she’d noticed women before, they make up half the world’s population and she’s got eyes, after all. But in her whole life, for better or for worse, her interest had always been men, and despite her numerous bad relationships over the years, she loved sex with men, all strong arms and broad chests and large hands. And she was quite good at it, too, thank you very much.

So she might have noticed women before, observed them, complimented them, appreciated them, but she had never considered anything physical with them, never wanted anything romantic with a woman. She hadn’t, had she?

Ever the diagnostician, she applies herself to the task of analysis. Allows her mind to wander back over the women she has known in her life: her high school best friend, how they always cuddled together in the same bed at sleepovers; her 10th grade science teacher with her tight white lab coat who she’d always been desperate to impress; her lab partner in anatomy at uni, a tall, willowy blonde with ice blue eyes and a voice Serena had found utterly compelling. 

Once she starts, it’s like a door unlocks in her mind to spill out countless women who have fascinated her over the years, who filled her with feelings she had written off as friendship, camaraderie, envy. Anything that would mask the true source - attraction.

The realization settles about her like a blanket, recoloring her perception. She can accept that she is attracted to women, but what does that _mean_? 

The memory of Bernie’s kiss surfaces once again in her mind, bringing with it the clear realization that what she’d very much like is to kiss Bernie Wolfe again. Then she remembers practically running from the kitchen, making an utter fool of herself. 

_What am I supposed to do now,_ she berates herself. _Say “I know we’re complete strangers and I’m sorry I ran like you were a serial killer, but I was wondering if you’d be up for a bit of a snog?”_

She touches her lips, thinking of how Bernie’s had felt against her, and throws aside her blanket with a groan. 

She’s too old to be mooning about her bedroom like a lovesick teenager, avoiding her problems like acne before a first date. Whatever happens, it can’t be that bad; they’ve become incredibly close in the last two days, she just needs to talk to Bernie, to tell her that this is new and confusing but something she would very much like to try again, if Bernie would be so inclined. Assuming she hasn’t scared Bernie off with her mad scramble from the kitchen.

“Come on, old girl.” She grabs her robe from the foot of the bed, wrapping it around herself, stops to comb her fingers through the worst of her bedhead in the mirror before heading out the door. “You can do this.”

...

_I can’t do this._

Serena’s determination stays with her as she walks downstairs, through the kitchen door, a thrill of excitement swirling in her stomach at the sight of Bernie standing in front of the coffee maker, all long limbs and blonde curls that are even more mussed than normal from sleep. 

She smiles as Bernie meets her eyes, tentative and pleased, a spark of warmth blooming in her chest; a spark which is quickly dashed when Bernie goes pale, stammers out some terrible excuse about leaving the shower running before dashing out of the room and leaving her full mug of coffee abandoned on the countertop. 

The happiness, the fizzing potential Serena had felt just a moment before curdles in her stomach; tears prick at the backs of her eyes.

 _Of course she doesn’t want you_ , she thinks bitterly. _You throw yourself at the first bit of kindness like a pathetic old woman only to panic and run away like a fool. What did you expect, her to greet you with a smile and open arms? I can’t do this…_

They manage to avoid one another all morning, each somehow finding a reason to be somewhere else when the other enters a room, like something out of a Benny Hill sketch. _Yakkity Sax_ starts echoing in Serena’s mind. 

The atmosphere is thick and stilted, suffocating, and she even considers taking the car, driving into town just to escape it. Until a glance at her cell phone shows the numerous weather alerts, the predictions of record setting snowfall in the region starting by sunset.

She finds Bernie tucked in an alcove in the study, a book held loosely in her hand as she stares out the window. The chill winter light leeches the color from her, leaves her hair looking nearly white, freckles standing out starkly against her skin. She’s so beautiful it makes Serena’s heart ache, filled with regret that she’s already managed to make such a mess of things.

“Bernie?” Wide brown eyes meet hers for just a moment, then dart away immediately; her hands fumbling with the book she clearly isn’t reading as she makes to rise, to remove herself from Serena’s presence as quickly as possible, as she’s done all day.

“Sorry, I didn’t...I mean, I can go…” 

“No, Bernie, wait.” Serena’s hand grips Bernie’s arm as she tries to push past, sends a frisson of electricity through her so sharply she has to bite back a gasp, and she sees Bernie’s eyes widen, pupils large and dark. 

She pulls back as if she’s been burned, wrings her hands as Bernie steps away, the heat gone from her eyes, leaving them shuttered and cool. “Sorry. I, ah, the reports say the weather’s likely to get quite bad tonight. We should probably prepare, just in case we lose power or something.”

Some of the tension in Bernie’s shoulders eases and Serena thinks she knows her well enough to know she’s relieved to have a task, an objective to face. 

“What do you need me to do?” She meets Serena’s eyes squarely for the first time and something in her chest loosens.

“We could use some more firewood, if you wouldn’t mind. I think there’s an axe out back by the woodpile.”

Bernie nods and turns to leave, grabbing her scarf off the peg in the hall. Setting aside her roiling emotions, Serena heads to the cellar, retrieves the small space heater, the propane burner. Drags them into the dining room, so they’re easily accessible, and glances towards the the back window.

She can see Bernie working, coat abandoned and sleeves rolled up over the lean muscles of her forearms. Watches her smooth rhythm as she grabs a log and stands it on the stump, raises the axe above her head and brings it down, splitting the log in a single stroke, body working in a concert of effort and efficiency as she repeats the task, again and again. 

Serena doesn't know how long she stands there, her eyes avidly tracing every line of Bernie’s body, every flex of muscle, every angle of limb, but when she finally jars herself back to reality the sky has darkened to a deep slate grey, fat flakes of snow just beginning to fall.

“Pull yourself together, Campbell,” she reminds herself, cheeks burning as she returns to the task at hand.

By the time she gets dinner on the table, the snow is falling thick and fast, draping the inn in a thick blanket of white, turning the features of the landscape into nebulous shapes and muffling all sound except the howling of the wind. They eat in awkward silence, eyes darting away each time they accidentally meet over the candlelit table. 

Bernie insists on clearing the dishes and Serena takes the opportunity to watch her as she moves around the kitchen. It’s ridiculous, but she already misses their friendship, their easy conversation and comfortable atmosphere, hadn’t realized how quickly she’d come to look forward to it, to depend on it. She wanted to say something, anything, to bridge the distance between them, to again see Bernie purse her lips when she’s holding back a quip, hear that ridiculous honking laugh that filled the entire house. Knowing that her fear, her cowardice has created this distance makes her chest ache.

Bernie dries her hands, carefully hangs the towel over the edge of the sink. “I’m pretty tired. I think I might just head up to bed.” The words are directed toward Serena but her eyes look anywhere but, flitting around the room. She looks so defeated, pulled in on herself and Serena can no longer bear it. _Time to make this right._

“Bernie, wait.” She looks up hesitantly, meets Serena’s eyes for the first time in what feels like hours. “Can...can we talk? Please?” For a moment she think Bernie will refuse, will leave her alone in the kitchen and walk away. Instead she squares her shoulders, returns to her seat opposite Serena. This time her gaze is steady, direct, like a soldier facing a firing squad.

Serena’s mouth works helplessly, her mind a jumble. She knows what she wants to say, what Bernie deserves to hear, but now that the moment has come her courage flags. “This isn’t easy for me. I, I haven’t...you’re the first…” She huffs out a frustrated breath, words coming in a rush. “I’ve never been more than friends with a woman before and you’ve terrified the life out of me.”

Bernie winces, fingers gripping each other so tightly on the table that her knuckles go pale. “I’m so sorry, Serena. I kissed you because I wanted to, and beyond that I wasn’t really thinking. But I can see how uncomfortable the whole thing’s making you. Can...can you ever forgive me?”

Her voice is small, thick with uncertainty, with guilt, and in a flash Serena understands. Without thinking her hand crosses the table, covers both of Bernie’s, sure and steady even as Bernie’s trembling hands jerk beneath her palm.

“No, Bernie.” Dark eyes meet hers, filled with anguish. “There’s nothing to forgive. It’s true that I’ve never kissed a woman before.” She takes a deep breath, wills her voice to stay steady, “I didn’t know I wanted to until you.”

Bernie’s eyes widen, mouth dropping open as her meaning sinks in. “But, you ran...and you’ve been avoiding me all day. I thought…” She’s cut short by Serena’s dry chuckle.

“Yes, well, waking up to the realization that I’m attracted to women threw me for a bit of a loop and I’m afraid I...panicked.”

Bernie’s hands loosen under Serena’s, turning palm up to intertwine their fingers, eyes dropping to study them. A faint smile teases at her lips. “‘Attracted to women,’ you say?”

Serena’s breath quickens, Bernie’s thumb sliding back and forth against her own sending bright sparks of heat up her arm, her voice dropping lower. “Well, one woman in particular, at least. I’ve certainly never thought about kissing one before.”

“And now?” Bernie looks up, her eyes filled with such heat, such _want_ , it takes everything in Serena’s power to hold back a gasp.

“Now,” she says, voice admirably steady. “I think I’d quite like to try it again.”

Bernie untangles their hands, eyes never leaving Serena’s as she rises from her chair, walks slowly around the table, looking for all the world like a lioness stalking her prey, lean and tawny. She looms over Serena, bracing her hands on the chair rail just above her shoulders and desire pools low in Serena’s belly, thick and hot, as Bernie studies her leisurely.

Just when Serena think she might go mad from the waiting, Bernie leans in. Brushes their lips together with the faintest pressure once and again. Pauses just millimeters away, their breath mingling. And then finally, _finally_ they’re kissing. 

Serena’s head spins, hands moving to Bernie’s shoulders to anchor herself. If last night had been a surprise, then this is a revelation. She’s certain that she’s never been kissed like this before, slow and thorough, as if they have all the time in the world. As if Bernie wants to spend the rest of her life doing nothing but kiss Serena senseless. A moan escapes her as Bernie’s tongue teases against the seam of her lips and she opens to her eagerly.

She has no idea how long they stay that way, but when they finally part they’re both breathing hard and Bernie’s face is flushed, lips swollen and well-kissed. Serena stands, walking Bernie backward until she’s leaning against the counter, brings their lips together once more. 

It’s messier this time, more desperate, teeth clashing as they press tight together; Serena gives in to the impulse to tangle her fingers in Bernie’s hair, twisting them in the silky soft strands. Bernie’s hands, strong and certain, slip beneath her blouse to rest just above her waistband, pulling a groan from Serena that is swallowed by Bernie’s eager mouth.

The wind picks up, howling against the windows, sends a draft rolling through the kitchen that makes them both shiver. Serena leans back to meet Bernie’s eyes, shivers for an entirely different reason as she loses herself in their nearly black depths. Bernie’s hands are warm against the skin of her lower back, fingers tracing teasing shapes and suddenly it’s not enough, could never be enough. Serena swallows, summons her courage once again.

“This place can be terribly drafty and it’s likely to be cold tonight,” she says, voice low and throaty, a glint in her eyes. “I have a spare heater in my room. Keeps things nice and cozy.” 

Bernie purses her lips, swallows a laugh that makes her eyes sparkle. “Is that right? Well, then.” She nuzzles against the shell of Serena’s ear, a warm gust of breath against her skin. “Lead the way, Ms. Campbell.” 

The duvet is warm and soft against the chill of the room as Serena tumbles onto it, eyes automatically falling to that same crack in her ceiling. But within moments, it is obscured by Bernie’s face before she presses her body against Serena’s, her lips against Serena’s, her hands against Serena.

It’s overwhelming in the best possible way, Bernie’s hands making short work of her clothes, murmuring words like _beautiful_ , _incredible_ and _gorgeous_ as each section of skin is revealed and Serena’s hands respond in kind, laughing as they get in one another’s way, tangling together in their haste. 

The press of skin against skin takes her breath away; all she can do for a moment is wrap her arms around Bernie, bury her face against that long neck and breathe her in.

Bernie pushes herself up on one elbow, smooths Serena’s hair back from her face, peering down at her with a smile. “Alright?”

Serena hums her approval, leans up the scant inches to kiss Bernie again, tugging her bottom lips between her teeth until she growls. Golden curls tumble across her chest like cornsilk as Bernie makes her way lower, seemingly determined to explore every inch of Serena’s body with her hands and mouth; presses a tender kiss against her appendix scar, a gentle bite to the flesh of her hip, turns her head to swirl her tongue, hot and wet, against Serena’s inner thigh as she settles it over her shoulder. 

“You taste incredible,” Bernie murmurs as she continues her exploration at the apex of Serena’s thighs, nimble fingers and clever tongue quickly dismantling Serena’s already tenuous restraint till she’s writhing and begging, hands clenched in the rumpled bedding. She pulls Serena over the edge and doesn’t stop; builds her up again, relentless in her pursuit of Serena’s pleasure, and all she can see are those dark eyes staring up at her as she falls apart.

When she comes back to herself Bernie is there on the pillow beside her, a soft smile on her lips. Serena rolls to face her, catches her in a kiss, moaning at the taste of herself on Bernie’s lips. 

One hand cups Bernie’s cheek as the other slides lower, their mouths still moving together, slow and unhurried. Her skin is so warm beneath Serena’s hand, firm muscle covered by softness broken occasionally by what she knows must be scars. She lingers on each one, learning their shape, swallowing the hitches of Bernie’s breath. 

Her breast is a perfect fit in Serena’s hand, nipple pressing hard and insistent against her palm. She breaks their kiss as she explores, pulls back just far enough to watch Bernie’s face, the way her eyes flutter shut when she swipes her thumb across the tip, the moan that tumbles from her lips when Serena rolls the nub between thumb and forefinger. 

Bernie is so responsive, greeting each touch with a twitch of her brows and a nearly silent gasp; it’s more intoxicating than any wine Serena’s ever had.

She watches carefully as her hand moves lower, skims across the flat plane of abdomen and into tangled curls. Bernie’s eyes fly open, wide and impossibly dark, and Serena holds her gaze, marshals her bravery. They both let out a tremulous breath as Serena’s fingers slide into wetness, seek out the bundle of nerves at the apex of Bernie’s sex. 

Bernie’s eyes squeeze shut and she leans her forehead against Serena’s, their breath mingling, lips a hairsbreadth apart. She quickly learns the motions that make Bernie gasp, the pressure that triggers a roll in her hips, how much she can tease before Bernie groans her name, voice thick and strangled with need. 

Bernie tenses against her, nails biting into Serena’s shoulder as she clutches her back, buries her face against Serena’s palm, muffling her cries until her face relaxes into a picture of bliss so pure and beautiful it brings tears to Serena’s eyes.

She catches Serena’s hand as she relaxes, brings it up between them, presses tender kisses to her fingertips. Serena manages to pull the duvet up over them, nestles deeper into the pillow, their hands still intertwined as she drifts off to sleep. 

...

Bernie wakes slowly, the room already flooded with bright sunlight as she stretches, muscles still languid, a smile on her face that widens when she turns her head on the pillow. Serena has rolled away from her in the night, the covers slipping low to reveal the length of her spine as she sleeps. 

She can’t help but reach out, fingers alighting on sleep warmed skin, tracing along the smattering of freckles, the bumps of Serena’s spine, until she mutters, burrows her face deeper in the pillow.

Sliding an arm around Serena’s waist, Bernie shuffles closer, moulds herself to Serena’s back and nuzzles the soft spot behind her ear.

“A girl could get used to waking up like this.” Serena’s words vibrate against Bernie’s lips, her voice husky with sleep. Bernie chuckles, nips at the lobe before soothing it with her tongue, and Serena rolls onto her back.

“Happy Christmas.” Bernie leans down to kiss her sweetly, nuzzling their noses together.

“Happy Christmas, indeed.” Serena is softer in the morning, hair mussed against the pillow, makeup rubbed away, her smile deepening the the lines beside her mouth, crinkling the corners of her eyes. Bernie presses soft kisses against each, the tip of her nose, the cleft of her chin, before capturing her lips again, leisurely sweeping her tongue against Serena’s lips.

Serena whimpers a little, pushes her away. “As much as I would love to continue this, I need to make sure everything survived the storm before Sian calls.” She kisses away Bernie’s pout and rolls out of bed, Bernie’s eyes tracking her gloriously naked body as she crosses the room to retrieve clean clothes. “Come along, Major. Up and at ‘em!”

It’s more snow than either of them have ever seen outside of a ski slope, a sea of unbroken white as far as the eye can see. Everything seems to have survived, though, nothing out of place as they tromp through the fluffy drifts to check the eaves and fences of the property. 

Bernie clenches her hands in her borrowed gloves, ears and nose bright pink in the cold. She finds herself almost envious of Serena’s enormous fur monstrosity of a hat, even if she had burst out laughing when Serena had put it on, only ceasing when it was suggested that further physical affection was by no means a guarantee.

Bernie attempts to clear the front path with a shovel they found in the shed, afraid that it might freeze solid if left too long. It’s hard work, her face freezing even as sweat trickles down her spine, but strangely satisfying. 

She’s less than a meter from then end of the walk when something thumps into the center of her back. She turns, frowning, just in time for a handful of loosely packed snow to slap into the side of her face, stingingly cold, chunks of it sliding off her chin and beneath the neck of her jacket. 

Serena stands nearby, gloved hands clapped over her mouth, eyes wide in horror. Bernie wipes the rest of the slush from her face, keeping her eyes on Serena as she bends over, scooping up some snow and slowly shaping it between her hands.

Serena holds her hands out defensively, backing away. “Now, Bernie, it was an accident. I swear!” She shrieks as the snowball hurtles through the air toward her, turning enough that it hits her shoulder, exploding in a shower of white. “Oh, you’re in for it now, Wolfe.”

“Bring it on, Campbell.” Bernie’s grin is fierce, hands already shaping another icy missile.

Their shouts echo across the peaceful landscape, yelps and taunts and gleeful laughter as they pelt one other with snow. They’re freezing, soaked to the bone, faces red and lips chapped, but neither of them willing to concede. 

Serena stumbles while scooping up a enormous clump of snow and Bernie sees an opening. Three long strides have her across the space between them before Serena can react; she snags an arm around her waist, tackles her into the fluffy snow, the hat rolling away as they struggle.

Bernie manages to come up on top, crowing triumphantly as she pins Serena down in a snowdrift. She laughs breathlessly, crystalline flakes dusting her hair and clinging to her eyelashes, and Bernie has no choice but to lean down and kiss her, tasting the snow on her cold lips.

“Bernie,” she murmurs into the kiss, “if we don’t get out of this snow you’re going to have to explain my frozen corpse to the authorities.”

Bernie frowns, but pushes herself up, reaches out a hand to help Serena up...and finds herself face down in the snow, sputtering and coughing. She rolls over to see a gloating Serena Campbell standing over her.

“I’ll try to leave some hot water for you.” Serena winks and dashes toward the front door.

By the time Bernie rights herself and makes it inside, there’s no sign of Serena except for a pile of wet clothes on the entryway tile and the sound of the shower running upstairs. She strips down, teeth chattering, and takes the stairs two at a time. Slips behind the shower curtain and gives a compelling argument for the benefits of conserving water against Serena’s now flushed skin.

They spend the afternoon preparing a Christmas feast, plump cornish hens with all the trimmings, carols playing on the stereo as they work in the kitchen. Serena sings along the whole time, her clear, sweet alto filling the room. Bernie joins her at Serena’s insistence, her voice off tune and the words usually wrong, but it makes Serena smile. That alone makes the embarrassment more than worth it.

Their orbits tighten as evening approaches, personal space becoming less and less. Bernie presses a kiss to the back of Serena’s neck as she reaches across for the pepper, feels Serena’s hand slide along her back as she goes in search of serving dishes. They decide to eat in front of the fire, laying their bounty out on a plaid throw Bernie finds in the press, eat until their bellies are groaning and then retreat to the sofa, cuddling close as they exchange stories of Christmases past, family traditions, the antics of their children. 

“Coffee?” 

Bernie nods, warmed by the feel of Serena nuzzling into her shoulder, pressing a kiss against her neck. She pushes up off of the sofa and Bernie smiles, eyes tracking the swing of Serena’s hips until she disappears into the kitchen.

Stretching her feet closer to the hearth, she nestles further into the cushions. Belly full, wine softening the edges of everything, desire humming beneath her skin, it occurs to her that this is what it must be to be content. It’s a feeling she’s unused to, that she had never expected to find in her life, but far from unwelcome. A part of her fears that it’s too much, that she couldn’t possibly be deserving of this kind of happiness, but she pushes it away, focuses on the here and now, on sinking into this feeling.

“Bernie?” 

She must’ve dozed off, opens her eyes to find Serena standing before her, two steaming mugs in hand, and… Bernie shakes her head, pushes herself to sit up straighter, mouth falling open as her eyes take in the vision before her.

Serena has replaced her casual clothes with a soft looking red jumper, large enough that it hangs off one of her shoulders. The hem falls mid-thigh, her legs an expanse of pale, bare skin and sumptuous curves below. It takes a clearing of the throat to draw Bernie’s eyes back to Serena’s face, to the wicked smile there, the knowingly quirked eyebrow, and she can’t find it in herself to be ashamed. 

She takes one of the mugs, their fingers brushing, and sips slowly. The heat of the coffee and the burn of the whiskey it’s laced with warm her from the inside as she lets her eyes trail leisurely over Serena’s body, catalogs all of the places she’d like to touch, to taste, now that she can. 

Her thoughts must show in her expression; Serena’s eyes are dark and intent as Bernie swipes a drop of coffee from her lip, tracks the movement of Serena’s throat as she drinks from her own mug.

Bernie just manages to put her mug on the table as Serena slides into her lap, legs bracketing her hips, pushing the jumper high on her thighs and pulling an almost pained groan from Bernie’s chest. She lets her hands ghost across the peach fuzz softness of the sweater, fingers tracing where the edge meets her exposed shoulder. 

Serena smiles enigmatically and sips at her drink.

“This is nice.” Bernie attempts to keep her tone nonchalant, but knows the roughness of her voice has given her away when she sees the sparkle in Serena’s eyes.

“Oh this old thing?” Serena sets her mug beside Bernie’s, reaching up to twine her fingers at the nape of her neck. “I obviously didn’t have a chance to buy you a Christmas present, but I thought you might like something to unwrap.” Her lips twitch upward and Bernie barely restrains her grin.

“Is that right?” She slips her finger beneath the crimson wool, tugging it down a little further, leaning forward to press her lips against the newly exposed skin. Serena hums above her, fingers stroking along her neck as Bernie nuzzles against her collarbone, peppers kisses along her shoulder. 

The collar of the jumper slips lower, aided by the pull of Bernie’s hand, her mouth following the path of the fabric down the gradually exposed slope of Serena’s breast. A sliver of rosy areola peeks over the edge and Bernie swipes her tongue against it, repeats the motion when Serena’s hand tightens in her hair. One final tug exposes her breast completely and Bernie takes the nipple between her lips, flicks her tongue across the pebbled skin, grins at the breath that shudders through Serena’s body. 

Her hand moves to tease the other nipple, prominent through the soft fabric, pinching and rolling it in time with the motions of her mouth until Serena is whimpering, hips rolling in her lap.

The softness of the jumper gives way to supple skin as her other hand slides down Serena’s spine, along the outside of her thigh, teasing at the crease of the back of her knee before moving back up, taking the hem of the jumper with her.

She pulls away from Serena’s breast with a gasp when her fingers cross the ridge of Serena’s hip, finding only more smooth bare skin; the faintest tickle of coarse curls brushes at the side of her hand.

“Serena,” Bernie groans. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Kill you?” She laughs, low and rich, leaning in to nip along the edge of Bernie’s jaw. “Why would I want you dead, when I can think of _so_ much I’d like to do with a big, macho, army Major like yourself.” She pulls back to stare at Bernie, eyebrow raised. “Assuming you’re up to the task, that is,” she challenges. 

“‘Up to the task?’” Bernie growls low in her chest, tugging Serena tighter against her. “I’ll show you ‘up to the task’...” 

She catches a hand around the back of Serena’s neck, the short hairs tickling against her fingers as she pulls Serena down for a fierce, deep kiss. Her tongue chases the lingering mix of coffee and whiskey, and she swallows Serena’s moan when she moves her hand to brush against wiry curls, already damp with arousal.

Serena is like warm velvet around her fingers, two sinking in easily as Bernie trails open mouthed kisses down the tendon of her neck, sucking at the fluttering pulse point while Serena mewls. 

She sets a rhythm, long slow strokes that Serena meets eagerly with whimpers and moans; her muffled curses and pleas for _more_ and _harder_ set Bernie’s body alight. 

She nips at the tender skin above Serena’s collarbone, wonders if she’ll leave a mark but doubts either of them will care when she feels Serena grind down harder against her hand.

It’s not long before Serena’s rhythm begins to falter, her fingers digging almost painfully into Bernie’s shoulders as she instinctively seeks more. Bernie eases in another finger and Serena’s head falls back, a low moan rolling from her lips, turning ragged as Bernie’s thumb presses tight circles against Serena’s clit. She tenses, still for a moment, before coming with a hoarse cry, clenching and wet around Bernie’s fingers. 

The firelight catches in the fine sheen of sweat, makes her pale skin glow like burnished gold, and the sight takes Bernie’s breath away.

Serena collapses forward against her, panting softly into the crook of her neck as Bernie’s hands stroke soothing circles across her back; the thought that she could do this forever, pressed so close to leave next to no space between them, flits vaguely across Bernie’s mind. The slithering bolt of fear that she expects after such a thought never manifests. 

She knows it’s mad, that at the end of the day they hardly know one another, but being with Serena, having Serena in her arms, feels inexplicably _right_.

Soft lips moving against her neck pull Bernie from her thoughts, bringing a smile to her face and she instinctively tilts her head to give Serena better access. Serena takes advantage of the invitation, nibbling along Bernie’s jaw, catching an earlobe between her teeth. Hands fumble with the buttons of her top, and the first touch of Serena’s warm skin against Bernie’s stomach makes her shiver. 

She moves to help Serena undo the rest of the buttons faster, but Serena pulls back to pin her with a heated glare, grabs her wrists and presses them down by her sides. Bernie takes the hint, forces herself to relax as Serena makes short work of the remaining closures.

Serena’s mouth is on her chest the moment the halves of her shirt are pulled apart, hot and insistent against her sternum, the dip of her collarbones, the swell of her breasts above her utilitarian black cotton bra. 

She groans at the stinging suction; the thought of Serena leaving a mark on her skin makes her throb.

Serena’s weight shifts and she slides from Bernie’s lap, kneels on the floor between her legs. Her nails drag deliciously upward along Bernie’s thighs, stopping when she reaches the closure of her jeans. Serena’s fingers fumble with the button and Bernie lifts her hips, gives Serena room to drag them down and off. Her blunt fingernails retrace their earlier path, scraping the skin of Bernie’s thighs, making her nerve endings thrum. 

Serena pauses, fingers curled beneath the waist of Bernie’s knickers, and presses a slow soft kiss to her inner thigh.

“I know I’m new to this,” she murmurs, the movement of her lips like butterfly wings against Bernie’s skin. “But if it’s alright, I’d like to taste you.”

Those words, in that husky voice, those dark, want-filled eyes looking up at her from between her thighs...Bernie thinks it’s a miracle she doesn’t come right then and there. As it is, all she can manage is a frantic nod, a strangled noise that Serena rightly interprets as assent, a wicked grin blossoming across her face as she tugs Bernie’s knickers down and off. 

Serena shuffles closer, pushing Bernie’s thighs wide to settle between them.

“You will tell me if I’m doing alright, won’t you?” A whimper is Bernie’s only reply as Serena lowers her head.

Bernie finds herself wondering if there’s a gene for sex, an innate skill that some people inherit, because the first touch of Serena’s tongue against her clit has her more desperate than she’s ever been. The tentative, exploratory flutters quickly settle into firm, sure strokes, Serena seemingly knowing through sheer instinct how best to to drive Bernie completely mad, and all Bernie can do is hold on, moaning her pleasure into the room around her.

A finger slowly pushing into her, followed by a second, pulls a curse from her and she barely stops her hand when it automatically flies to tangle in Serena’s hair. Her hand hovers, mere inches away and Serena looks up, eyes crinkling as she nods, never breaking pace. Bernie’s hand settles gratefully, twisting into the short, dark locks and she feels Serena moan against her, hips jerking in response.

Bernie tries to make it last, tries to think of something, anything other than the tongue relentlessly teasing her clit, the perfect rhythm of the fingers filling her, curled just right; it’s a hopeless effort. 

She comes faster than she could have ever expected, arching up off the sofa and spasming for what feels like forever, anchored only by Serena’s wicked mouth and the hand buried in her hair.

She blinks blearily, breath still coming harsh and fast, when Serena rises, bonelessly acquiesces as Serena pulls her into her arms, laying them both back against the arm of the sofa and pulling the throw over them. 

Their legs tangle and Bernie settles closer, rubs her cheek against Serena’s shoulder, the soft fibers of her jumper tickling her skin, Serena’s fingers stroking soothingly through her hair as they watch the crackling fire. Silence stretches between them, and Bernie feels Serena shift beneath her, once again has that feeling that Serena is trying the find to words to ask her something.

‘You can ask me anything, you know.” She props her chin on Serena’s shoulder, meets her startled eyes, frowning when they shift away from her gaze. “Serena?”

Serena sighs, tilts her head and meets Bernie’s gaze again. “This has been utterly wonderful and I’m so very glad to have met you.” Her expression sobers and Bernie feels a flutter of nervousness. “But I can’t help but wonder what this is?” She presses on before Bernie can respond, words coming faster now. “If it’s just a, a vacation shag, I completely understand. Lord knows it’s been the most incredible time I’ve had in, well, _ever_. But, more than that, I...I like you, Bernie, maybe more than I’ve ever liked anyone. In fact, I think it would be terribly easy for me to fall in love with you.” 

Bernie tamps down the initial spike of fear that lances through her, lets the warmth of Serena’s body, the warmth of the time they’ve spent together soothe her. “I like you too, Serena, more than I can say.” Serena’s smile, makes her heart stutter, emboldens her to be honest. “The reality is I leave tomorrow and head back to Sudan within the week. And even if that weren’t the case, I’m not very good at this sort of thing. My divorce speaks for itself.”

Serena shifts a little higher, fingers still curled in the strands behind Bernie’s ear. “I would argue that there were extenuating circumstances, but remember that I’ve got one of those, too. And we both have busy lives, grown children, challenging jobs.” She tilts Bernie’s chin up with a finger, brushes her nose against her cheek. “But I think you might be worth the effort, Bernie Wolfe.”

Bernie smiles, her eyes gleaming in the firelight, lips pressed together and pulled wide enough to split her face in two. She doesn’t think anyone has ever thought her worth the effort before, likely wouldn’t believe the sentiment from anyone else’s lips, but hearing it from Serena fills her to the brim with warmth, with bravery, with the unfamiliar feeling that she might actually be enough. She knows the reality, knows the challenges, but thinks for the first time she might be up to the task, just as she knows Serena is more than worth it, worth everything Bernie could ever hope to give and already knows she’s prepared to try.

She stretches up the last inches to kiss Serena, tender and without hesitation, trying to express everything she feels through the connection; they’re both a little breathless when she pulls away. Bernie snuggles back down, nuzzles happily into the curve of Serena’s neck.

“So, Ms. Wolfe,” Serena’s voice is light and teasing, her hand stroking along Bernie’s spine. “Have you enjoyed your stay at _Les Jumeaux_?” The syllables drip off her tongue, reigniting the heat low in Bernie’s belly. She moves to straddle Serena, the throw sliding forgotten to the floor, basks in the delighted grin on Serena’s lips.

“I have one or two complaints about the attire of the staff.” Her hands curl in the hem of Serena’s jumper, pulling it up and over her head swiftly to leave her hair a staticy halo. Bernie tosses the garment to the floor. “But the service is impeccable.” 

Serena’s laugh is loud and delighted, and the warmth of the holiday spirit suffuses Bernie as she brings their lips together. After everything, she can’t help but think it has turned out to be quite a good Christmas after all, far better than she could ever have anticipated. She loses herself once again in Serena, hopeful heart fluttering with gratitude and anticipation for the new year.


End file.
